


What Was Never Said

by SydneysKidney (orphan_account)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Angry Aziraphale (Good Omens), Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a lightweight, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Crowley's Eyes (Good Omens), Denial, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Hurt, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Beta read we die like men, Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a couple of bumbling dumbasses, canon scenes but also not canon scenes, first fic on AO3 lol letsgetit, gonna add tags as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21551845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SydneysKidney
Summary: This fic is a unique take on what was going on inside the minds of Crowley and Aziraphale during the show. This includes takes on canon scenes, but also non-canon scenes that I've drummed up (which includes angst AND fluff).no smut unfortunatelysorry :p
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 21





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> btw I wrote this whole thing with my e key being broken on my laptop. appreciate that.

It all started in a garden. The Garden of Eden, to be precise. At 9:13 am on Sunday the 21st of October, 4004 BC, the universe came to be. The world is a Libra. Libras like the outdoors, harmony, and sharing with others. Libras don’t like violence, injustice, and loudmouths. Aziraphale is a Libra. This became clear the moment he gave away his flaming sword to Adam and Eve. 

It felt like he had to. _They would have died_ , he told himself. Standing on the wall, overlooking the two humans set out into the desert beyond the walls of the garden, he sighed — such a problem. The wind ruffled through his robes and his feathers, bringing him back to reality. Aziraphale decided that now wasn’t the time to be wondering whether or not he did the right thing. _Of course, he had. He was an angel._

Do you know who wasn’t an angel? The giant black snake that was slithering up the wall behind him. He was the opposite of a Libra, everything a Libra dislikes; he liked violence, he was the physical manifestation of injustice, and he was a loudmouth. A demon, to be precise. Aziraphale’s stomach lurched as he felt the smooth scales rub against the back of his ankles. The feeling subsided, and next to him, a man with long red hair and a sharp jawline appeared. His black wings unfurled from his back, the tips of the feathers brushing with Aziraphales own. He had a small tattoo next to his ear. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a snake curled up in a pattern. Appropriate.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.” The man said. Aziraphale had to look twice to confirm that his eyes were not deceiving him. These last seven days in the garden, he hadn’t seen another soul besides the humans and the other angels guarding the other gates. A stranger dressed in dark garb was a very new sight.

Aziraphale chuckled nervously. He felt dwarfed by this stranger. The man was practically radiating confidence and mischief, like a demon. His fingers twitched, and Aziraphale quickly realized that he was alone in this. There were no other angels around to help him if this stranger turned out to be hostile. The angel shifted on his feet, the rough texture of the bricks beneath him reminding him that the demon was still standing next to him. He gulped, looking away.

“Sorry, what was that?” Aziraphale inquired. He had been too caught up in his anxious thoughts to process what the man had said to him. The demon turned and finally looked the angel in the eyes. Aziraphale’s heart twitched. The demon’s eyes weren’t normal; in fact, they resembled snakes’. Yellow irises surrounded the black slit of the pupil in the center, which seemed to stare right into all of his insecurities. His heart twitched again.

“I said, ‘Well, that went down like a lead balloon.’” The demon sarcastically repeated. _Oh. That’s what he said._

Desperate to stay on the demon’s right side, Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, it did, rather.” For now, the beast seemed relatively friendly.

“Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me.” The demon murmured. Aziraphale looked at him, confused. “First offense and everything. I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.” The demon’s curly hair whispered in the wind as he spoke, hypnotizing Aziraphale. He blinked. _Wait, did he question the Almighty?_ His pure instincts leaped in, and he puffed out his chest a little bit.

“Well, it must be bad...” Aziraphale looked into the snake eyes once more, trailing off. He hadn’t asked for the demon’s name.

“Crawley.” _Fitting._

“... Crawley. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.” Aziraphale grinned, feeling accomplished. Crawley is a demon. Of course, it’s bad. It’s just common sense.

“Oh, they just said, ‘Get up there and make some trouble.’” Crawley shrugged.

“Well, obviously. You’re a demon,” Aziraphale murmured, “It’s what you do.”

There was a small moment of silence. It didn’t last very long, unfortunately--Crawley being a loudmouth and all. “Not very subtle of the Almighty, though. Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a ‘Don’t Touch’ sign, eh?”

_Huh. Hadn’t thought about it that way._

“I mean, why not put it on the top of a high mountain? Or on the moon?” Crawley scoffed. Aziraphale was getting uncomfortable. All of his instincts were telling him to smite this demon who dared to question the Almighty’s plan. However, there was some part of him that told him to keep listening. The demon was making a bit of sense.

“Makes you wonder what God’s really planning.” The demon chuckled.

“Best not to speculate.” Aziraphale cut in. He’d rather not hear Crawley keep going on about how ‘unreliable’ the Almighty is. It was making his skin crawl. At least the demon is doing part of his job. “It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand.” There was a pause. “It’s ineffable.”

Crawley, who had been previously staring out into the desert, looked at him. “The Great Plan’s ‘ineffable?’”

“Exactly. It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.”

Crawley looked down in thought. _What is this angel even going on about?_

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” He changed the topic. The word ‘ineffable’ got on his nerves pretty quickly.

“Uh..” Aziraphale quickly looked away from the prying snake eyes. Shit.

“You did. It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?”

Aziraphale coughed into his fist, looking anywhere but at Crawley.

“Lost it already, have you?”

“Gave it away.” Aziraphale murmured into his shoulder, looking as far away from the demon as possible.

_“You what?”_

“I gave it away!” So much for avoiding that whole dilemma from earlier. One big circle, it appears. “There are vicious animals! It’s going to be cold out there, and she’s expecting already!” Crawley gawked at him. “I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.”

Crawley felt a strange feeling. He was a demon. His entire purpose for his existence was to capture souls for Satan. The more people feel bad or stressed, the more likely they’re going to do something sin-worthy. But for some reason, Crawley had the instinct to comfort this confused angel. The angel was fidgeting. He was like a child who had done something wrong and was waiting for his mum to beat him. It was painful to watch. So he sighed, and went with this foreign instinct.

“Oh, you’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” He grumbled begrudgingly.

The angel’s eyes lit up like fireworks. Crawley could practically see the weight lifted off of his shoulders. His nonexistent heart thumped.

“Oh, oh, thank- oh, thank you. It’s been bothering me.” Aziraphale smiled. Crawley cleared his throat, moving his eyes away from the flustered angel. They focused on the distance, where Adam was defending a heavily pregnant Eve from a wild lion. _Oh. Found the flaming sword._

“I’ve been worrying too.” Crawley felt the angel’s eyes boring into his face. It took everything not to look. “What if I did the right thing with the whole ‘eat the apple’ business?” He finally looked back at the angel. The slight happy feeling he had in his heart melted away into dread in an instant.

“A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.”

Adam’s flaming sword met with the lion’s skull. The impact of the sword was heard back to the wall. The sound of skull bone getting crushed by a blade is not a pleasing thing for the ear to listen to. Crawley didn’t seem all too bothered. He was too busy focusing on the much more dangerous situation at hand; demonic punishment. Despite his worries, he managed to choke out a laugh.

“It’d be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing, and you did the bad one?” Aziraphale’s head jerked to look at him. That was a horrifying concept.

“No! It wouldn’t be funny at all.”

Crawley chuckled lightly again. Nothing seemed to scare him.

A drop of rain splashed into Aziraphale’s platinum blonde hair. The first rain in the universe. Just then, Aziraphale decided that he enjoyed the shower. As the rain started to come down harder, the angel lifted one of his wings as an invitation. Taking the olive branch, Crawley shuffled underneath the shelter. He had decided that he did not like the rain.

“What’s your name, angel?” The demon turned and looked at him. Aziraphale turned and held eye contact. A strange shiver went down his spine, looking into those snakelike eyes.

“A-Aziraphale,” He stammered out. “It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Crawley smirked.

In the future, Aziraphale would like rain for another reason. It marked the day when he met Crawley for the first time.

  
  



	2. Noah's Ark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noah's ark is a thing, and neither Crawley nor Aziraphale are very happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just an itty bitty lil' chapter to suit the itty bitty lil' scene

Mesopotamia, 3004 BC. Two of every animal on earth, a male and a female, were making their march to Noah’s ark. Unsurprisingly, Aziraphale couldn’t stay away. He was standing on a platform, watching all of the animals marching two by two towards the vast boat.

“Hello, Aziraphale!” A cheery voice called from behind him. Aziraphale jumped, turning left and then right, to try and figure out who had been calling to him.

“Crawley!” The demon’s wavy red hair had grown out quite a bit. So much so that a wall of red entirely hid the tattoo of the snake. A smile broke out on the angel’s face. Previously, it had been barren. All he could think about was the sheer magnitude of humans that were about to perish in the great flood. Having reminded himself of the upcoming massacre, the smile quickly disappeared.

Crawley wasn’t stupid. He saw how quickly that smile faded. So he helped the only way he knew how- sarcasm.

“So, giving the mortals a flaming sword. How did that work out for you?” Crawley tilted his head like a curious puppy. Aziraphale coughed into his fist. _That would be cute if they weren’t talking about the sword._

“The Almighty has never actually mentioned it again.” He replied.

“Probably a good thing.” 

Crawley finally took the time to look around him. Locals were gathered in a large group, all staring up at the giant ark perched on top of a hill. There was a lot of yelling, a lot of worried looks to loved ones, and a lot of confusion.

“What’s all this about?” He finally noticed all of the animals. They were all headed to one place; the boat. “Build a big boat and fill it with a traveling zoo?”

Aziraphale shuffled uncomfortably. He shouldn’t be telling a demon the rumors he has been hearing from the angels. But he’d been his “friend” from back in the Garden. Or at least the only interesting person to talk to. The other angels looked down on him for being so kind as to give away the flaming sword that God herself gave him. He sighed, finally giving in.

“From what I hear, God’s a bit tetchy.” Crawley raised an eyebrow at this. “Wiping out the human race. Big storm.” Aziraphale let out a choked laugh. It sounded more like a dying wheeze than a laugh.

Crawley looked around once more at all the people. Suddenly the group felt a lot larger than it was before.

“All of them?” Aziraphale noticed that Crawley was looking specifically at one smaller group-- a group of children. His stomach dropped. The angel had the urge to reach out and put a comforting hand on Crawley’s arm. Aziraphale knew that it would be a bad idea, so he decided against it. His heart twanged a little.

“Mm-hmm.” Aziraphale nodded. 

As his voice broke, he didn’t realize how close he was to tears. Crawley instinctively reached out and did what Aziraphale was considering doing before. The demon wasn’t as good at measuring consequences as Aziraphale was. The angel felt the heat coming up to his face and quickly looked away, flustered. Seeing this reaction, Crawley snatched his hand back as if Aziraphale had scorched him. Crawley cleared his throat, pretending that the exchange had never happened.

“Well, that’s more the kind of thing you’d expect my lot to do.”

“Yes, but when it’s done, the Almighty’s going to put up a new thing, called a ‘rain bow,’ as a promise not to drown everyone again.”

“How kind.”

Neither of them were too pleased with this. Despite that, Aziraphale still had his pure instincts to defend the Almighty at every turn.

“You can’t judge the Almighty, Crawley. God’s plans are-”

Crawley’s head jerked back to the angel, a scowl on his face. “Are you going to say ‘ineffable?’”

A moment of silence passed.

“Possibly.”

Thunder crashed in the skies above. Slowly but surely, splashes of rain fell onto the heads and shoulders of the people below. Aziraphale felt every muscle in his body tense. _Countless amounts of people will die. Men, women, and children. All of them. And all of it is God’s doing._

_This isn’t fair._

Crawley was quick to catch on to Aziraphale’s fear and panic. It wasn’t hard, considering Aziraphale’s breathing had been speeding up over the last ten seconds.

Crawley was a demon. It wasn’t in his genes to comfort or help people. His genes were meant to hurt and maim and serve his master. But something about Aziraphale’s normally startling blue eyes going dark and stormy bothered him. They were dripping with worry and anxiety for all members of the human race. So gently, albeit hesitantly, Crawley put an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

Aziraphale instantly tensed up even more than he had before. But when Crawley squeezed his shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, the tension eased away. Instead of running for the hills as any other angel would have done, Aziraphale very slightly began leaning into Crawley. He was the only sense of constant familiarity he had. Nothing was more certain than Crawley being there at every turn. Whether it was to make a mess of things or to bother Aziraphale, he was there. So slowly, but surely, the breathing slowed to an average pace. Crawley gently rubbed Aziraphale’s shoulder as the rain picked up, and the tragedy began.


	3. When in Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley get shitfaced.  
> Crowley talks about why he was cast out of heaven.  
> Drunk alleyway cuddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm spamming chapters like crazy but I love these two sue me

Rome. So many things have happened in Rome. But it would take half a century to describe all of them, so we’ll skip to the exciting part.

“What have you got?” Crawley growled to the bartender. He wasn’t in the mood for jokes, pranks, or mischief. He wasn’t in the mood for anything but alcohol. Being a bother came naturally to him, being a demon and all, but sometimes it just wasn’t enough. Today was one of those times. Today, he tried to make Rome go to war-- And failed miserably.

Aziraphale did not know this. All that he did know was that his favorite demon friend was sitting at the counter of the bar. He paused in his board game and turned, observing the events that followed.

“Give me a jug of whatever you think is drinkable.” Crawley scanned the room, not caring who the bartender was, only that they deliver what he needed: copious amounts of alcohol. He had finally decided to cut his hair short, so his head was covered in small loops of red hair adorned with a silver wreath of leaves. In the last century, Crowley had taken up wearing a pair of tinted spectacles wherever he went, which included now. Aziraphale didn’t know what to think of the spectacles at first since they covered up the eyes that he was so used to gazing into, but he’d quickly gotten used to it. Nowadays, he considered the spectacles an essential part of Crawley.

The bartender dropped a jug on the bar in front of Crawley. “Jug of house brown. Two sesterces.” She barked. Crawley glowered at her until she went away, and hunched down to nurse the alcohol, hopefully until he forgot about the day.

“Crawley?”  _ Shit. _ Aziraphale, unable to read that Crawley wanted to be left alone, walked up to him. He was wearing a cream-colored Roman toga, smoothly blending him in with the general populace. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

“Crowley.” Crawl- Crowley sniffed. He had decided to change his name recently. The name Crawley was too squirming-at-your-feet-ish. He hadn’t liked it.

It had been a while since Aziraphale and Crowley had seen each other, which was perhaps why Aziraphale was so thrilled to see the demon finally.

“Fancy running into you here. Still a demon, then?”

Crowley groaned, his patience even thinner than it was before.

“What kind of a stupid question is that, ‘Still a demon?’” Crowley snapped, “What else am I going to be, an aardvark?”

Aziraphale was noticeably taken aback by this. He wasn’t used to Crowley being so snappish with him. He’d seen him be rude to other people, but never to Aziraphale. They had been friends on Earth for so long. So long, that the ‘demon and angel’ thing had been swept entirely out of their minds.

Crowley finally decided to make eye contact with Aziraphale. Guilt wracked his being when he saw the look of hurt on the angel’s face.

“Sorry,” Crowley grumbled, taking another long drink of his house brown. Aziraphale’s hurtness quickly transformed into concern as he sat down next to the demon.

“Salutaria,” Aziraphale warily clanked his cup against Crowley’s. “In Rome, long?”

“Just nipped in for a quick temptation.”  _ Quick, not successful, though. _ Crowley glowered to himself. Aziraphale could practically see the terrible mood materialize in the air.

“What about you?”

“Oh, I just wanted to try Petronius’s new restaurant,” Aziraphale practically glowed. “I’ve heard they do remarkable things to oysters.”

Crowley looked back towards the wall, thoughtful. “I’ve never eaten an oyster,” he hummed.

“Oh, well, let me tempt you!” Aziraphale grinned, not thinking about the wording. Crowley turned and gave him a look. Aziraphale shrunk.

“Sorry… that’s your job.” Aziraphale blushed. Crowley chuckled, in a better mood now that he had some alcohol in him.

“Damn right. Well, let me tempt you to a couple of drinks before you, and I go and get some oysters, hm?” Crowley let himself grin a bit. He’d already messed up his temptation today, how much worse could it get? Crowley needed to treat himself a little bit, in his opinion. All the better to have a companion with him while he drinks himself to death.

Aziraphale was not so thrilled by the offer.

“Crowley, I’m an angel. Alcohol is-it’s bad! It influences you to do things you don’t want to do, and you end up not thinking straight-” Aziraphale’s lecture was cut short by Crowley pushing a single finger against his mouth.

“Just try it, alright? For me?” Crowley gave mock puppy eyes towards the angel.

“Fine.” Aziraphale conceded, picking up a jug placed in front of him. He looked at the brown substance inside and resisted the urge to gag. He liked wine, that was for sure, but this? This was barbaric.

“Actually, can I just sit out this time-” Aziraphale turned back to Crowley, only to find him on his third jug.  _ My word that was fast. _

It was then he realized that, if Aziraphale didn’t drink with Crowley, the demon might spend the next however-long getting himself shitfaced drunk to deal with whatever is weighing so heavily on him. So when Crowley turned to him and asked what he had said, Aziraphale just smiled and shook his head, then took a sip.

  
  


“Another round!” Crowley roared, slamming his fifteenth jug on the countertop. Aziraphale was swaying back and forth in his chair, finding it funny that it was so difficult for him to sit upright.  _ How fascinating! _

“Alright, I’m cutting you two off,” the barkeep yelled back, “Get the hell out of my bar!”

With a classy middle finger, Crowley hopped up off of the stool and grabbed Aziraphale by the hand. The poor angel was so far gone that he barely even noticed himself being dragged out of the bar. The people still inside were yelling after them, even as they turned the corner into a back alleyway.

Crowley and Aziraphale slid down the wall, laughing together. Aziraphale was so drunk that he had to lean on Crowley for support. Crowley swung his arm around Aziraphale good-naturedly as the laughter began to die down.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale grumbled, trying to sit up and failing.

“Hmph?” Crowley looked down, grinning upon seeing the angel unable to sit upright. The unfortunate thing had only drunk three jugs and was already in a worse state than he was. Lightweight.

“Why were you so upset this afternoon?” Aziraphale slurred, giving up on sitting upright and leaning back onto Crowley. Crowley sat for a moment, thinking. Finally, he settled on an answer.

“I fucked up.” He said. Aziraphale nudged him with his elbow.

“That’s not all of it.”

Crowley groaned. “Fine. I tried to make Rome go to war. I’ve been doing horribly in my work recently, and this was just another failure,” Crowley summoned another jug of beer, taking a swig, “Like me.”

Aziraphale successfully sat up this time, looking at Crowley cautiously. “Whatever are you talking about? You’re a natural at making trouble!” He bumped Crowley with his elbow again, nearly jostling the drink out of his hand. “You were the demon who tempted Adam and Eve, remember?”

Crowley grunted. “Well, in the eyes of Beelzebub, I’m a pain in her ass. A worthless annoying demon with all these stupid ideas,” He took another drink, “And in the eyes of the Almighty up there or whatever you want to call her, I’m the scum of this universe.”

Aziraphale hadn’t heard such remarks come from Crowley before. The demon had always been an egotistical prick, proud of his work for hell. He went against the traditional way of doing things, and he was proud of it. Hearing such a 180 from him raised some red flags.

“I’m still lost, Crowley.”

“Well, angel,” Aziraphale’s heart jumped at this, “I fell. I’m a fallen angel. That’s what I am, and what I always will be. The scum of the universe!” Crowley gestured grandly with his now empty sixteenth jug. The exclamation drew the attention of some people walking by outside of the alleyway, but no one wanted to have an intervention with a shitfaced drunk guy in an alley. Aziraphale hesitated. He wanted to know more, and this may be the only opportunity to hear about Crowley’s past. Maybe telling Aziraphale about his history might help somehow. So, with only a little hesitation, Aziraphale pushed forward into the unknown.

“Why did you fall?” Aziraphale’s voice was small, cautious. He didn’t want to overstep. Crowley looked back down at the angel only to be met with the most worried pair of startling blue eyes he’d ever seen. Crowley scowled, but it softened quite quickly. The fallen reached up and took off his spectacles, folding them neatly in his lap. He stared down at them for a while.

“I was proud.” Crowley murmured. With the hand that wasn’t around Aziraphale’s shoulders, he rubbed his tired eyes. He looked a millennium older once his hand moved away from his face. Aziraphale set a comforting hand on Crowley’s leg, indicating for him to continue and that he was still there.

“Did you know I created a lot of the stars in the sky?” Crowley said suddenly. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at the sudden outburst. Seeing the skepticism in Aziraphale’s eyes, Crowley suddenly came to life.

“I’m serious!” The demon smiled drunkenly. He started pointing at the stars speckling the navy night sky. The sun hadn’t set all the way yet, but the humming of insects was beginning anyway. There weren’t a lot of stars, but there were enough to prove Crowley’s point.

“Y’ see that one?” He pointed to a sparkling star near the moon. “I made that one. It’s called Antares. And that one!” His arm swiveled a different direction, “That’s Betelgeuse. It means ‘the hand of Orion,’ like the constellation.” Aziraphale watched Crowley ramble drunkenly about all the stars he created before he fell. A smile grew on his face without him thinking about it. His heart burned in a powerful, enjoyable way. Aziraphale found that he liked it when Crowley was like this. Not drunk, oh no. When he was talking about his projects and his creations. He’d told Aziraphale about a large project of sin he was working on. The excitement and dedication in his voice made his heart want to melt. Crowley talking about the stars gave him the same feeling.

“So… What do the stars have to do with your falling?” Aziraphale asked once Crowley’s rambling had slowed down a bit. The silence that engulfed the two felt like a vacuum had been placed in between them. Crowley removed his arm from around Aziraphale’s shoulders, causing the angel to feel a sense of yearning he didn’t realize he had. Crowley’s snakelike eyes stared at the ground in between his legs, devoid of feeling.

“I was proud of them. Uriel, Gabriel, and the like told me that pride was not allowed. That it was shameful. That I was acting like I was better than the Almighty herself.” The jug next to Crowley refilled itself just in time for him to take another chug. “I disagreed. So I talked to the only person I knew who would accept how I felt: Lucifer.” The sound of Satan’s angelic name sent a chill down Aziraphale’s spine. It had been a long time since he heard it. The angels in heaven usually refer to him as either Satan or the Forces Below. Never… Lucifer.

“Lucifer told me that I was okay to be feeling pride for something I cared about so much. I listened to him more and more. Then he started to get cocky,” Crowley scoffed, “The moron.” Crowley spoke with a tone of regretful nostalgia and still stared at the ground. He didn’t seem so drunk anymore. Aziraphale’s hand drifted to Crowley’s shoulder to comfort him. If the demon noticed at all, he didn’t show it.

“The Almighty caught wind of it all. She cast Lucifer down into the depths of hell along with those who dared listen to what he had to say,” Crowley chuckled bitterly, “Which includes me.” Crowley leaned back against the wall with an exhausted sigh. Aziraphale noticed the bags underneath the enrapturing snake eyes for the first time.

“The rest is history.”

It had been a while since Aziraphale questioned The Almighty’s Great Plan. Casting Lucif- Satan down into hell along with Crowley, had to have been a part of it. Watching Crowley’s glossed over eyes stare into the void planted another seed of doubt.

“That was very cruel of her, Crowley. I’m sincerely sorry.”

A small, uncomfortable silence followed. Both of them felt as sober as ever.

“Your stars are beautiful.”

A hint of a smile teased at Crowley’s mouth for the first time in a long time.

  
  



	4. The Storming of the Bastille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale tries on handcuffs. Kinky.  
> Crowley isn't into it.  
> Crowley is bouta throw some hands with whoever had the fucking audacity to chain up his angel.

Paris is a lovely city. An absolute tourist trap sometimes, but it’s gorgeous, so it is worth it. The architecture is astonishing, the food is terrific, and the people want nothing to do with Americans. Absolute bliss, anything a person can ask for. 

Unless you were talking about Paris in 1793, in that case, Paris is quite a different story. The Reign of Terror was in full swing, 100 heads a day were rolling in the street. Instead of water, blood ran through the cracks in the streets. People cheered as their formerly beloved leaders lost their heads.

In other words, a lovely time for a demonic presence.

A not so lovely time for an angelic presence.

And this was the exact situation Aziraphale was in, sitting in a dungeon, alone, chained to a wall.

_ All I wanted some crepes. That’s all. Not my head chopped off and thrown onto the sidewalk! _

A man dressed in a bright red hat and a red, blue, and white badge on his lapel entered the cell with the clattering of metal keys. He said something in French and then approached Aziraphale.

I’m an angel. One would think that I’d be equipped with bilingual abilities.

“Wait- uh, monsieur!” The man paused at Aziraphale’s pathetic attempt to communicate in French. “Set un grande… uh… mistake- uh, erreur.” There was a blank look.

_ I guess I’m a bit out of practice. _

Before Aziraphale could continue to make a fool of himself, the man held up a hand for him to stop.

“I speak English.”

“Oh. I see.”  _ How embarrassing. _

The crowd outside of the cell clamored as another noble head met with the blade of the guillotine.

“Listen to that. The fall of the guillotine blade,” The man proudly said. “Is it not terrible?”

Aziraphale jumped on the chance to meet with this man’s empathy.

“Yes. Yes, cutting off that poor woman’s head. Terrible.” The angel attempted an award-winning smile.

“It is Pierre. An amateur. Always he let go of the rope too soon!” The man exclaimed with his heavy French accent.  _ There goes  _ that  _ opportunity. _

The man, or Jean-Claude, as he introduced himself as later on, continued to ramble. He said something about how much of an honor it was for Aziraphale to die by his hands. Oh joy, what a thing to celebrate. The angel couldn’t care less. 

All he could think about was Crowley. Discorporating only meant two things: lots of paperwork, and a long time away from Earth to get a new body. Those two things added up into one more greatly important thing: a long time away from Crowley. Over the years, Aziraphale had grown to care about Crowley a great deal. The demon had been Aziraphale’s only companionship through these long years on Earth. Sure, the angel could go back up into Heaven occasionally and fraternize with other angels. But they were all stuck up, tedious pricks who thought of humans as nothing more than barbaric monkeys. All the angels said not-so-subtly behind Aziraphale’s back that he had “gone native.”

Well, maybe that’s a good thing! Aziraphale stubbornly thought as Jean-Claude continued to ramble on and on about guillotines.

It didn’t hurt that Crowley was a genuinely nice guy, even though he would have Aziraphale’s head on a spike if he ever heard him say that. It also didn’t hurt that Crowley was rather easy on the eyes. If he had the choice, Aziraphale could look into those black slitted pupils and the golden irises that surrounded them for the rest of his time on Earth. He’d come to love having the demon around, so much so that he’d gotten used to the smell of evil that permeated wherever Crowley went. Aziraphale’s favorite times were their outings. At least once a week they’d go out for a walk and some lunch. Occasionally, Crowley would get tired of walking around. His solution to this was to turn into a snake and ride along on Aziraphale’s shoulders. It would attract a fair bit of attention, but it was worth it. Aziraphale could never get that close to Crowley unless he were a snake. Or if he was drunk. Either or.

Things had been a little different recently. He hadn’t seen Crowley in at least three weeks. Why? He didn’t know. Maybe Hell finally caught wind that he had been with an angel all this time. Aziraphale’s mouth went dry at that thought. If that were the case, Crowley would never be coming back. Hell would have demolished him in the most painful way possible: holy water. He tried not to think about Crowley getting dunked in the pure water, watching him scream in agony, and reach out for Aziraphale, only for the angel to be unable to do anything. That was a nightmare he’d had several times by now.

Aziraphale was so deep in thought he barely caught when Jean-Claude stopped talking. He had been staring blankly at the grimy brick wall the entire time, but now his head was on a constant rotation, trying to find out why Jean-Claude had stopped all of a sudden.

“Hello, angel.” A familiar purr called out from the corner of the cell. A pleasurable shiver went up and down Aziraphale’s spine, and his heart rate skyrocketed at the way he said “angel.” He couldn’t stop the broad smile that dawned on his face.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale whirled around, only to find that Crowley was only an inch or two away from his face. He stumbled back, and Crowley grabbing his arm with a surprised grunt, was the only thing that kept him from tripping over the chains. They looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. Both of their hearts pounded in their ears.

“What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille?” Crowley asked as he straightened Aziraphale out. “I thought you were opening a book shop.” He grinned mischievously.

“Well, I was. I got… Peckish.”

“Peckish?”

Aziraphale sighed exasperatedly. “Well, if you must know, it was the crepes. You can’t get decent ones anywhere but in Paris.”

The conversation lulled for a moment, and all they could do was look at each other with dumb grins on their faces. Aziraphale had to use every fiber of self-control in his being not to leap into Crowley’s arms and thank him tenfold. And it took Crowley every thread of his self-control to not rain Hell upon the Parisians who locked up his dear friend. 

Crowley’s eyes drifted to Aziraphale’s handcuffs. They were so tight they were leaving red scrapes and scratches on Aziraphale’s delicate skin. Crowley nearly growled at the sight but instead snapped his fingers, and the cuffs clattered to the floor. Aziraphale massaged his wrists, wincing every time his hands brushed past a scrape. Crowley hesitantly came closer and stopped Aziraphale from irritating the wrists more, his spindly, spider-like fingers stopping Aziraphale’s thicker ones in their tracks.

“So, you popped across the channel into a revolutionary war because you wanted a crepe?” Crowley sighed. Aziraphale grinned and shrugged.

“I have standards.” The two shared a light chuckle. The tension seeped out of the room once Crowley had confirmed that Aziraphale had no permanent damage.

“Well, anyway, I’m very grateful,” Aziraphale said, smiling. “What about if I buy you lunch?” Crowley looked at his fingernails casually, acting as if he had so much else to do.

“I suppose I could carve out a chunk of time in my day for a little lunch date,” Crowley said, unfreezing Jean-Claude and watching him get dragged away by the guards. Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed; he was too flustered.  _ A date? A lunch date? Did I accidentally ask the demon Crowley out on a Parisian lunch date? _

He looked to Crowley for reassurance, but he was all too amused at watching the confused Frenchman struggle. He was still a demon, after all. Finally, he turned to Aziraphale, and the angel felt copious amounts of blood rushing to his face. Even the tips of his ears underneath the red beanie he was now wearing turned a pink hue.

“What’s for lunch?” Crowley’s snake eyes peeked over the rim of his spectacles. Aziraphale steadied himself and cleared his throat.

“What would you say to some crepes?”

  
  



	5. Holy Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a teensy weensy little request for Aziraphale.  
> It does not go as expected.  
> Many feelings are hurt.  
> Aziraphale freaks tf out.

St. James’s Park is located in London. It’s a lovely green park full of grass and trees and nature and the like. A normal park with a normal lake with normal spies meeting at benches for normal dramatic handoffs of top-secret information. Just like any other park. Then, however, we were in 1862, and two supernatural beings made this particular park unlike any other park in the entire world.

Crowley leaned casually on his fashionable walking cane. He could walk just fine, mind you. It was fashion those days. He felt a little silly, but not as foolish as he felt when he was wearing that leotard when he and Aziraphale visited Shakespeare. Aziraphale looked good in that kind of fashion. Hell, he looked good in the majority of things. The fabric had hugged his calf just right, accenting all of the right places. Crowley wasn’t complaining, and most likely never would. Aziraphale could be wearing a garbage bag, and the demon would still consider him the most handsome angel he had ever met.

But that was in the past. Nowadays, fashion was finally catching up. Top hats and dress coats were all the rage. Crowley found himself feeling quite dashing for the first time in a while. As he stared out at the swans gliding along the lake behind his shaded glasses, he wondered where Aziraphale was. They had planned to meet here ten minutes ago, and there was no sign of the usually punctual angel. So instead, Crowley watched the swans dance.

Swans were beautiful creatures in Crowley’s opinion. The way they left perfect ripples in the water whenever they moved was almost hypnotic. Crowley could have spent hours idly leaning on his walking cane and staring at the birds. As a white swan swam towards its black counterpart, Crowley heard footsteps coming up the dirt path next to him. He didn’t have even to look to know that it was Aziraphale. It helped that the moment the footsteps stopped, the “mystery man” immediately began throwing the swans and ducks breadcrumbs.

“Look, I’ve been thinking. What if all goes wrong?” Crowley finally spoke up, “We have a lot in common, you and me.”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale’s voice replied from next to the demon, “We may both have started off as angels, but you are fallen.”

Crowley’s eye twitched at this. He had long dismissed the fact that Aziraphale was an angel, and he was a demon and that they were meant to be pit against each other. To Crowley, they were just friends, no matter their species or alliances. He thought that they had been through enough to confirm that.  _ Clearly, I was wrong. _

“I didn’t really fall,” Crowley protested, finally looking at the angel next to him, “I just, you know… sauntered vaguely downwards.” Aziraphale chuckled at that.

Aziraphale had taken up wearing a lot of tweeds recently, which was shown by the tweed overcoat he was adorning over his white button-up. He was also wearing a large plaid bow tie around his neck. Not many people could get away with that look, but Crowley’s angel friend could.

The demon finally managed to tear his eyes away from his friend’s fashion choices.

“I need a favour,” Crowley said nonchalantly. The edges of his mouth were already starting to turn downwards.

“We already have the agreement, Crowley,” Aziraphale countered, “Stay out of each other’s way. Lend a hand when needed.” The angel threw another breadcrumb to the ducks.

Suddenly, Crowley couldn’t look at Aziraphale anymore.

“This is something else, for if it all goes pear-shaped.”

“... I like pears.”

“If it all goes wrong, then.” Crowley conceded, “I want insurance.”

‘Insurance’ finally caught the attention of Aziraphale. He put his white brimmed hat back on his nest of platinum curls and looked at Crowley. He finally noticed the definite downturn of his mouth.  _ Something isn’t right here. _

“What?” Aziraphale asked cautiously.

“I wrote it down. Walls have ears,” he said as he handed Aziraphale a folded piece of paper, “Well, not walls. Trees have ears.”

Crowley continued blabbering about ears to try and mask his anxiety of Aziraphale’s reaction.

Aziraphale unfolded the piece of paper, already zoning out from Crowley’s nervous rambling. Scrawled on a scrap of white paper in clear lettering was two words: Holy Water.

Aziraphale quickly looked back at Crowley as if to confirm what he had just read. He looked back down at the words and blinked several times. Yet, they were still there, clear as day. His stomach sank.

“Out of the question.”

“Why not?” Dear Almighty, the audacity of this man-

“It would destroy you!” As Aziraphale’s words stumbled out of his mouth, fear tensed every muscle in his body.  _ What if that was why Crowley needed it?  _ Possibilities scrambled through Aziraphale’s worried mind. In his mind’s eye, he could see Crowley holding a small vial of holy water, surrounded by angels. He watched him down it in one gulp. Aziraphale’s mind watched his best friend scream in agony and collapse to the floor. In another scenario, he could see Crowley sitting on a bench holding a bottle of alcohol. His snake eyes were red with tears, and his body hung limply with defeat. Aziraphale didn’t know why, but that didn’t matter. Crowley pulled out the vial of holy water from his jacket pocket and looked at it longingly. Aziraphale didn’t want to imagine Crowley killing himself, but that’s where his mind took him anyway.

He saw Crowley alone. Alone and scared, with no one to help in sight. He saw his beloved demon give up on his existence, choosing instead to take the easy way out. These images shattered his heart.

“I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice broke before he could stop it. The angel shoved the paper back into Crowley’s hands and turned away, trying not to show how affected he was by this request. He didn’t realize how much he had been shaking.

Crowley was shocked into stillness. He could scarcely even breathe. All he could do was stand and watch his angel tear himself to bits over imaginary scenarios.

_ Shit. I did that. _

All Crowley wanted to do was lunge forward and wrap Aziraphale in his arms, tell him to forget the entire thing, and just hold him and keep him away from all the danger in the universe. The rest of Heaven and Hell could bugger off for all Crowley cared. All he needed was his angel.

But Crowley didn’t do this. It took all of his willpower, but he knew that he couldn’t. The demon couldn’t risk the friendship that he had worked so hard to build up over the last thousands of years. Instead, he pushed the paper back towards Aziraphale.

“That’s not what I want it for,” he said quietly, “Just insurance.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley, bewildered. Does he seriously think that I’m that stupid?

So he expressed his thoughts. “I’m not an idiot, Crowley.”

Aziraphale had so many excuses not to give Crowley that holy water.  _ You’re depressed! You’re not thinking straight! What if something went wrong? If something did go wrong, it would be my fault. He would blame me. I would lose him. I can’t lose him. I love him. _

Despite all of these perfectly reasonable excuses to not give Crowley what he desired, he knew that the demon would keep pushing until Aziraphale submitted. He knew that Aziraphale would cave eventually. So he had to hit him where he knew it hurt.

“Do you know what trouble I’d be in if…” Aziraphale looked to the sky above nervously, “if they knew I’d been fraternizing?” A pang of guilt sent a shockwave through Aziraphale’s body. He knew that he had brought Crowley through the wringer throughout their friendship. It was just so hard to trust a demon! But it was the only way he could think of to get Crowley to lay off the request.

Meanwhile, a pang of hurt echoed through Crowley. He thought he meant more to Aziraphale than just someone to “fraternise” with. A pang of anger quickly followed.

“Fraternising?” Crowley spat through his gritted teeth. He’d jumped through hoop after hoop to try and prove himself worthy of this angel, but it was never enough.  _ I’m still just an untrustworthy demon to him. _

Seeing the evident hurt and anger in Crowley’s face and voice, Aziraphale tried to backpedal.

“Well, whatever you wish to call it.” But it was too late, and both of them could see it.

“I have lots of other people to ‘fraternise’ with, angel.” Crowley hissed, his voice practically dripping with venom. “I don’t need you.”

Aziraphale’s heart sunk. But, he had come too far to back out now.

“Well, and the feeling is mutual, obviously.” Aziraphale spat back. He didn’t need to see behind the shaded glasses to see the shock in Crowley’s face. Another pang of guilt ripped through Aziraphale’s fragile determination. He took a deep breath and started to walk away. If I look at his face one moment longer, I’m going to combust.

But he had to, in his point of view. If he hadn’t, Crowley might have… he couldn’t even bring himself to think it. He had imagined it enough. So instead of thinking of it any further, Aziraphale balled his hands into fists. He squeezed so hard that his fingernails pressed deep into the tender flesh of his palm, and he used that willpower to keep walking away.

As the two supernatural beings got further and further away from each other, they both felt their hearts getting tighter and tighter with longing.

  
  



	6. Bombs Away (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is a silly goose.  
> Crowley comes to the rescue.

1941, London. The sirens wailed their distorted, mournful cries into the night. Everyone and no one were listening, too busy worrying about food and shelter away from the bombs. In an unsuspecting church, all of the candles were lit. Footsteps echoed down the corridor between the pews as Aziraphale marched towards two other men. The angel removed his hat as the two strangers stood up to greet him. 

There was, however, the elephant in the room. The two men’s eyes drifted to Aziraphale’s hand, which held a rope, which in turn held a stack of books. Significant, specific books, mind you. Books that contained prophecies of the future. It was widely disputed as to which ones of these prophecy books provided the correct and accurate predictions, but having some prophecies is better than having none.

Aziraphale’s footsteps slowed and stopped.

“Mr. Glozier, Mr. Harmony.” The angel respectfully greeted the two.

“Mr. Fell. You are late,” Mr. Glozier purred, his thick German accent echoing through the empty church. He gave a slimy grin. “But not to worry.”

“You have the books for the Fuehrer?” Mr. Harmony probed bluntly as he approached Aziraphale.

“Yes, I do.” Aziraphale cautiously stepped forward, setting the bundle of books on the stand that generally held the bible for services. They made a dull clunk as they hit the old wood. He took a step back as Mr. Harmony ran a finger along the spines.

“Books of prophecy. Otwell Binns, Robert Nixon, Mother Shipton. First editions, as requested.” Mr. Glozier unraveled the rope holding the stack of books together, picking up Otwell Binns’ book of prophecies. Mr. Harmony picked up a book himself, this one being Mother Shipton’s. Flipping through the pages, he didn’t look as pleased as Aziraphale had expected.

“What about the other book we told you to bring us?” Mr. Harmony snapped the book shut, causing Aziraphale to jump a little at the sharp sound. “The Fuehrer was most definite that he needs it. It has the prophecies that are true. With the true prophecy book, the war is as good as won.”

“The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. Yes, yes, I do know what you are talking about.” Aziraphale was quick to stay on the Nazi’s right side. He was an angel, and technically immortal, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t afraid of these terrible people. “No luck. I’m afraid that is the Holy Grail of prophetic books.”

This time, it was Mr. Glozier who spoke up, gently closing Otwell Binns’ book. “The Fuehrer also wants the Holy Grail. And the Spear of Destiny, should you run across them.” 

Aziraphale chuckled tensely.  _ I believe the archangel Michael is in possession of that as of this moment. Best not to let them know that. _

“Why are there no copies of Agnes Nutter’s book? We have made it clear that money is no object.” Mr. Harmony turned to “Mr. Fell” once more. “You will be a very rich man.”

“The unsold copies of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies were destroyed by the publisher, which is, well, all of them,” Aziraphale admitted. “It never sold a single copy.”

He saw the dismayed and slightly angered faces of the Nazis in front of him, and his blood drained from his face.  _ I do so wish that Crowley was here. He’d know what to do. He always does. _

“But I found the publisher’s catalog for 1655,” Aziraphale jumped on the chance to recover from his mistake, “and it does list one of Agnes Nutter’s prophecies.”

“What was it?” Mr. Harmony leaned in, absolutely enchanted at the idea that he’d be able to hear one of the great prophecies.

“Her prophecy for 1972.” Aziraphale said mysteriously, “‘Do not buy Betamax.’”

There was an empty silence.

“Who is Peter Max?” Mr. Glozier asked inquisitively.

“I have no idea.”

“I will pass it on to the Fuehrer.” Mr. Harmony nodded.

“These volumes of prophecy will be in Berlin by the end of the week,” Mr. Glozier said this time, “The Fuehrer will be most grateful.”

“You have been exceedingly helpful, Mr. Fell.”

Aziraphale smiled good-naturedly, putting his hat back on his head. He believed that the exchange was now over. Finally.

That relief in his body vanished in an instant when he heard two guns cocking at the same time. Angels don’t carry guns.

“Such a pity you must be eliminated, but take heart,” Mr. Glozier grinned wickedly, pointing his pistol at Aziraphale’s chest, “just another death in the Blitz.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to grin wickedly. This was a grin that could only rival the smile that adorned Crowley’s face the majority of the time, which was no easy feat. The angel had daydreamed about that grin of Crowley’s for ages so that he could reproduce it to near perfection. Mr. Glozier noticed the smile almost immediately.

“You do not appear worried, my friend.”

Right on schedule, a pair of heels clicked on the floor of the church, and another third gun cocked from behind Aziraphale. He didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. He had orchestrated this from the start.

“She, my double-dealing Nazi acquaintance, is the reason why none of those books are going back to Berlin,” Aziraphale spat as the Nazis put their hands in the air in surrender, “and why your nasty little spy ring will be spending the rest of the war behind bars.”

Finally, a rather nice-looking woman dressed in black appeared from the shadows, lurking up behind Aziraphale. Her red lips bled into a smirk as she watched the Nazis squirm under the eye of her pistol.

“Let me introduce to you Captain Rose Montgomery of British Military Intelligence,” Aziraphale announced proudly. Rose Montgomery chuckled.

“Thank you for the introduction.”

“Our side knows all about you two,” Aziraphale continued, “She recruited me to work for you. And now she’s going to tell you that British agents surround this building and that you two have been--” Aziraphale paused, putting a hand to his chin in mock thought, his voice practically oozing sarcasm, “What is that lovely American expression? Played for suckers.”

Aziraphale was too proud of his rousing speech to notice that Rose Montgomery was trying to get his attention.

“Yes, about that-”

“Right. Everyone!” Aziraphale shouted, looking around the room for the British agents that were supposedly surrounding the building at this very moment, “Come on! Round them up!”

The silence continued. No one moved a muscle. There were no sounds of approaching footsteps or cocking guns this time.

“Rose, where exactly are your people?” Aziraphale whispered out the corner of his mouth. He would have thought that British intelligence would be more punctual to something as important as this.

A laugh broke out from Mr. Harmony.

“We are all here.” Both Mr. Glozier and Mr. Harmony put their hands back in their pockets casually. Aziraphale’s gut dropped to the depths of Hell.

“Allow me to introduce Fraulein Greta Kleinschmidt.”

The gun that had been trained on the Nazis swiftly turned and trained between Aziraphale’s eyes. Aziraphale jumped backward with a frightened gasp, clutching the pew behind him.  _ This isn’t how this is supposed to go! _

“She works with us.”

Mr. Glozier and Greta Kleinschmidt spoke in German to each other while Mr. Harmony approached Aziraphale, much more relaxed.

“‘Played for a sucker.’ I must remember that. I am played for a sucker, you are played for a sucker, he, she, it,” Mr. Harmony paused to chuckle, “will be played for a sucker.”

“Now, where were we?” Mr. Glozier resumed, “Oh, yes! Killing you.”

Aziraphale felt tears entering his eyes.

“You can’t kill me!” He practically begged, then paused. “There’ll be paperwork.”

As if on cue, the door to the church slammed open. Everyone stopped and turned simultaneously to look.

Well, as the Almighty would have it…

There he was. The demon Crowley was trying his best to saunter into the church like a badass. But instead of having his desired effect, Crowley was too busy gasping in pain and hopping around like a kangaroo with its feet on fire.

“Sorry, consecrated ground,” Crowley wheezed out between gasps of pain, “Oh! It’s like being at the beach in bare feet.”

At any other point in time, Aziraphale would be beyond pleased to see his favorite demon. At any other point in time, Aziraphale would have practically skipped towards Crowley and exuberantly asked what he was doing there, what he had been up to, and if he wanted to stop by the book shop for a drink or two. But that was for any other point in time.

When Aziraphale wished that Crowley was there, he hadn’t expected it to happen. So out of surprise, Aziraphale rushed towards Crowley.

“What are you doing here?” He hissed through his teeth. Usually, the hissing part was reserved for the snake-demon, but this time was an exception.

Crowley finally came to a stop next to Aziraphale, grasping his shoulder tightly. Aziraphale felt faint. He didn’t know why (or maybe he was just so deep in denial he couldn’t fathom it), but whenever Crowley touched him, Aziraphale wanted to shrink into the smallest molecule he could, which would be hydrogen, and never reappear. Ever. But he couldn’t exactly do that right now.

“Stopping you from getting into trouble.” Crowley hissed back, shaking Aziraphale from his reverie.

“But, these people probably work for you!”

“What? A couple of half-witted Nazi spies? Of course not!” Crowley rolled his eyes, “I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed!”

This was a simple lie. No half-truths here just straight lies straight to Aziraphale’s innocent face. Crowley had to use a lot of self-control to keep himself from wincing. He was a demon, for someone’s sake, he was a natural at lying. But Aziraphale stripped all of that away so quickly it almost physically hurt to lie to him.

What he was lying about was a whole different question. But what was he supposed to do? Tell his angel right then and there that he came because he could sense that Aziraphale was in danger? That if the angel was out of his sight for more than three days, Crowley would start to panic? That the angel was the single most important being in his entire life, and if he died, Crowley would have no reason to be on this Earth anymore? That he loved his angel with every cell in his bod?  _ Of course not. _

“Mr. Anthony J. Crowley. Your fame precedes you.” Oh right. Them.

“Anthony?” Aziraphale turned and looked at the demon again. Crowley frowned.

“You don’t like it?” _ I’ll change it. Whatever you want it to be. You pick. Anything to make you happy. _

“No, no, I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.”

“The famous Mr. Crowley?” Ms. Kleinschmidt purred, catching Crowley’s attention, “That’s such a pity you must both die.”

Crowley mockingly tipped his hat towards the lady.

Aziraphale did not catch the ‘mockingly’ part. All he saw was Crowley tip his hat towards a lady and that they both held eye contact for longer than necessary, in his opinion. Aziraphale’s heart twisted cruelly. _ Were redheads his type? Was it the German accent? Or was it the hips? Damnit, I won’t be able to focus for the rest of the night. _

“Enough babbling. Kill them both.” Mr. Glozier had finally had enough, but Crowley wasn’t quite finished.

“In about a minute,” he jumped in, “a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right here.” Crowley gestured to the ground below him. “If you all run away very, very fast, you might not die.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Mr. Glozier scoffed, “The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.”

“Yes.” Crowley grinned that grin of his that Aziraphale adored so much. The demon looked meaningfully at the angel. “It would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes.”

This man is going to be the death of me, Aziraphale thought to himself. But he didn’t quite mind that if he was honest. Which he wasn’t. At all.

“Kill them. They are very irritating.” Mr. Harmony groaned, turning back to the books and shoving them in his briefcase. Crowley grinned. Oh, he had been so excited about this.

As if he had rehearsed this (which I will leave up to debate if he did or not), Crowley gestured dramatically to the ceiling. On cue, a whistling sound was heard above the church.

The bomb dropped exactly where Crowley said it would.

On top of them.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment pls ily thanks <3


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